


Len's

by Defcon



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: AU, Barry is the Flash, Inspired by a Gilmore Girls gif set, Language, Len owns a diner, M/M, coldflash - Freeform, hidden identities, secret badass, smooches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defcon/pseuds/Defcon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jitters will always be Barry's favorite coffee shop -- it has the best house brew, uses only fair trade beans, and in addition to employing Iris for several years it was the site of countless study sessions and hang-outs throughout their adolescence. </p><p>It might be a relationship between a business and a customer, but it's one of the longest lasting relationships that Barry's had, and that's got to count for something.</p><p>So why does cheating with the soup-bowl-sized mugs of coffee at Len's, the diner across from the precinct, feel so good?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Len's

**Author's Note:**

> As I mentioned in the tags, this is sort of a Gilmore Girls-inspired AU. Barry is still the Flash, but Len's just the owner of a diner across from Barry's precinct. That doesn't mean that he doesn't have a ~mysterious past~.
> 
> I may or may not write more stories in this AU, but for now it's just a one-shot to feel out the premise.

Jitters will always be Barry's favorite coffee shop -- it has the best house brew, uses only fair trade beans, and in addition to employing Iris for several years it was the site of countless study sessions and hang-outs throughout their adolescence.

It might be a relationship between a business and a customer, but it's one of the longest lasting relationships that Barry's had, and that's got to count for something.

So why does cheating with the soup-bowl-sized mugs of coffee at Len's, the diner across from the precinct, feel so good?

"Will you slow down kid? Coffee's not going anywhere. I can only imagine the burns you're inflicting on your throat, and this is coming from someone who used to drink alcohol made in a bathtub. Regularly."

Okay. So it was possible that Barry's recent unfaithfulness to Jitters had something to do with the diner's grumpy owner, whose unfairly blue eyes were currently trained on Barry and holding a special look of judgment usually reserved for his part-time waiter (and full-time nephew) Michael.

"Are you ever going to tell me about your tattoos? Or at least let me see them?" If Barry had learned one thing from being the Flash, it was to zig when an opponent expected a zag.

Len rolled his eyes, slung the rag he'd been using to wipe the counter over his shoulder, and pulled his sleeves down from where they'd been pushed up to his elbows.

"If that was your attempt to catch me off guard, you'll have to do better. Now," he turned and grabbed a plate that his cook Mick had just tossed on the pass-through with a grunt, "You're late, and I'm going to give my actually paying customer her sandwich. Consider putting a dollar in Michael's jar on your way out."

As a gesture of good-will to the police across the street Len ran an ongoing promotion offering cops free coffee from 5 AM-9 AM and 9 PM-midnight. Barry knew that Len knew that being a CSI did not necessarily make him a police officer, and he was pretty sure that Len knew that Barry knew that Len knew. But since the older man had never brought it up, Barry assumed they were just Not Talking About It.

"See you later," Barry called as he grabbed his bag and coat off the stool next to him. He dug in his pocket and jammed a still-crumpled single into the repurposed plastic tub by the register that read " ~~Hellmann's Mayonnaise~~ MICHAEL'S COLLEGE FUND". 

Before exiting he couldn't resist tossing over his shoulder, "Try not to make any elementary schoolers cry today!"

Len closed his eyes and let out what Lisa called a Calming Breath. When he opened them he was met with the curious stare of his only other patron.

"It happened  _one time_ , it was a _middle schooler_  and I maintain that she started it. More coffee?"

 

* * *

 

Patrol that night was almost boring. The Flash reversed a pickpocketing sight-unseen around 8 PM, and twenty minutes later scared off a group of drunk assholes who were following some women home from a bar.  At 9 o'clock, when nothing else had turned up on the scanner that Cisco and Caitlin thought required his attention, Barry decided to call it a night.

As soon as Barry got back to the labs Cisco gestured for him to take off the cowl and hand it over, and began fiddling in the earpiece with a small screwdriver.

"Problem?" Barry figured he should ask, but knew his friend would've said something if it had been an issue while Barry was running.

"No, just some weird feedback. I can fix it in a second and you can get back out there if you want," Cisco muttered, frowning down where he was working and trying to twist the cowl so he could catch the light. Caitlin walked over, clicked on a small flashlight keychain, and trained the beam on Cisco's hands.

"Ehhh," Barry pushed his still-gloved hands through his hair and shrugged, "I'm here for the citizens of Central City when they need me, but it's pretty quiet out there tonight."

"Not to mention," Caitlin chimed in, "We've already agreed you shouldn't intervene in too many petty crimes. The CCPD is happy to work with the Flash while you're capturing meta-humans and averting crises, but if you spend all your time stopping crimes that should be handled by the police they might start threatening us with the 'v-word' again."

Barry's eyes widened and Cisco actually looked up from his work.

"Ugh, 'vigilante,' obviously. Grow up."

Cisco set Barry's mask down on the console and narrowed his eyes at the speedster, "So are we actually pretending that this early night is due to a lack of Flash-calibre crimes, and not because Barry is obsessed with that coffee jockey?"

Barry blanched, "Excuse you! Len's the owner," Barry could tell from Cisco's smirk and Caitlin's small grin that that had been the wrong thing to focus on. "And I am not obsessed! It's just good coffee, _free_  good coffee. That's important since this side-gig doesn't pay much."

"Barry," Caitlin chided, "We know that's not why you do this."

Barry rolled his eyes and knocked his shoulder into hers playfully, "Says the woman who's somehow still on a S.T.A.R. Labs payroll despite the fact that this is a defunct site whose time-traveling, megalomaniacal head scientist disappeared mysteriously and is presumed dead."

Caitlin scowled and said in a small voice, "Cisco and I decided not to question it."

Barry flashed into his street clothes and grabbed his bag from underneath the main console. "See you guys tomorrow, yeah? Cisco don't forget the Meta-Human Taskforce debrief is after lunch."

Cisco snarking that  _he_ wasn't the one who missed appointments was the last thing Barry heard as he sped out the door. 

 

* * *

 

Barry skidded to a stop in the alley next to Len's; he hadn't been traveling anywhere near top speed, but he still had to wait a minute for the smell of burning rubber to fade. 

As he turned out of the alley an elderly couple was leaving the diner. The man was leaning heavily on his cane as he descended the steps, but he still had a hand on his wife's lower back. Over their heads Barry spotted Len at his customary place next to the cash register. Instead of the scowl or sneer Barry was accustomed to seeing on the man's face, he was watching the couple and smiling a little.

The old softy.

And that was it, wasn't it? Why Barry kept coming back. Because somehow the gruff misanthrope who ran the place was actually an incredibly decent man who tried to sneak Barry baby carrots in his order of fries, and didn't realize he hummed along to the radio and even occasionally sang under his breath, and who (by Michael's own account) was helping his nephew become the first person in their family to get a higher education.

The bell over the door announced his entrance, and Len drawled, "Barry it's 10 o'clock on a Wednesday night. Shouldn't you be at home?"

"What, and have to brew my own? No thanks." Barry perched on a barstool as Len flipped a cup over and reached behind himself for the coffee pot. When he turned back he caught Barry eyeing the remaining pie sitting on the stand mid-way down the counter.

"You don't want that. That's old."

"I thought you made all the pies fresh?"

"I do," Len disappeared into the kitchen and returned a minute later, walking backward through the hinged door and holding a still-steaming pie between two towels. He set it on the counter and smirked. Only he could be smug about pastries.

"What kind?" Barry liked the look of the lattice crust.

"Peach. Do you want a piece?"

"Sure! I mean, yes. Please. But..." he couldn't help the glance he cast toward the pie on the stand, which he was reasonably certain was apple -- Len's best recipe and Barry's favorite.

Len sighed, "Do you want a piece of peach and also to finish up the last two pieces of yesterday's apple?"

From the other man's tone Barry could tell that Len had moved beyond being unsettled by how much Barry ate each day to merely resigned. He hopped off the stool and walked over to grab the other pie dish himself.

"No need to dirty a second plate, I'll just eat this out of the tin."

"You realize you're paying for all of that, yes?"

Barry hummed and dug into the first piece, "We'll see."

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later Barry was still the only customer in the restaurant. He was half-way through his last piece of pie and on his second cup of coffee, and Len was leaning against the shelves behind the register working on a crossword puzzle.

"I don't care for the theme of today's crossword."

"Crosswords have themes?" 

"Not always, but often. Usually it's alluded to in the title."

"Crosswords have titles?"

Len slanted a look at Barry over the edge of the folded up newspaper. "Aren't you a CSI? Puzzles should be your thing."

Barry shrugged, guileless, "Iris was always better at word games. You know, like jumbles?"

"How is Miss West?"

And wasn't that a question. Barry didn't regret telling Iris he was the Flash, he just worried sometimes that she'd thrown herself into crimefighting and her work at the Picture News, and that she hadn't really given herself time to mourn Eddie.

"As well as can be expected," Barry coughed a little, trying to cover his awkwardness, "Um, so what's so bad about your puzzle's theme?"

Len watched him for a second, knowingly, then shrugged a shoulder, evidently deciding it wasn't worth pressing the issue. "Something to do with teen slang or internet jargon. Eleven down is 'HASHTAGSQUAD,' which I only know because of Michael's insufferable Instragram posts."

Barry snorted a laugh into his coffee; Michael Villarreal was a good kid, but a prototypical handsome, popular high schooler.

"I'm trying to be a good uncle, I only made the account because he asked me to," Len continued, "But how many pictures of him and his Mountain Dew-drinking, dirt bike-riding, bro-fisting friends throwing up gang signs do I have to 'like' before I can tell him that I don't give a damn?"

"Someone's salty," Barry teased.

"Hmm. Eighteen across -- S-A-L-T-Y. Thanks, kid. Maybe you can help me with twenty-seven down? Three letters, I'm sure the second one is an A, clue is 'Your best guy or gal'."

Barry grinned, "Bae."

"What?"

"B-A-E, you really haven't heard that? It's like, what the cool, young folks call their significant others these days."

Len looked up at Barry with a smirk, "If it's something cool, young people say then how do you know about it?"

Barry was about to make a comment about their relative ages and coolness (or lack-thereof), but Len wasn't finished.

"Unless you have a bae, Barry?"

They stared at each other for a second, and Barry knew he should say something or make a stupid joke, but he was like a deer in the headlights. He could feel the blush rising up the back of his neck and burning on the tips of his ears, and thank god Sucre burst in through the door from the kitchen and broke the tension.

Len's night cook looked panicked. He gripped Len's bicep and turned him to whisper, not quietly enough for Barry to miss, "Mardon's here! I was taking the trash out, and I saw him pull up with like three other heavies!"

Barry perked up at the mention of a "Mardon." Could Sucre be referring to Mark Mardon?

Len's eyes widened, but otherwise he appeared calm. "Was he armed?"

"Man, I don't know, I was too busy running back here! Does he even need to be anymore? My cuz' owes him money Lenny, I can't be here!"

"It's too late for you to leave," Len said as pulled his keys from his back pocket and pressed them into the cook's hand, "Take the stairs by the pantry up to the apartment and hide."

Sucre rushed back through the kitchen, and Len spun to face the front of the diner, scanning the sidewalk out front.

"Barry, get over here."

"Wait, what? What's going on?" Barry was beginning to think that this situation might call for the Flash, but it seemed like he'd missed his opportunity to dash away.

"For once in our acquaintanceship will you not argue with me? Just come around the counter, quickly."

More than the order, it was the concern and fear in Len's voice that had Barry off of his stool and jogging around to where Len stood.

"Get down." Len growled.

"Wha-?!" Barry tried to argue, but a strong -- big, warm, _strong_ \-- hand was pushing down on his shoulder, encouraging him to crouch next to Len's feet and below the cash register where he would be hidden from the eyeline of someone standing in front of the counter. 

"Stay quiet," Len murmured, then unceremoniously went back about his business. He replaced the coffee pot in the machine, then scraped the uneaten half of Barry's pie into the trash can before setting the plate in one of the black, plastic tubs on the shelves behind the counter.

The tinkle of the bell over the door made Barry tense, but Len just called, in his usual sardonic tone, "Sorry, we've closed for the evening."

"So it's true. You've gone legit." Footsteps as the newcomer walked around the diner, surveying the layout.

"The rumors were that you spent these last years in Opal building up a new power base, but I guess the only power you care about now is charcoal or gas-burner."

"Funny. But I said that we're closed."

"Aw, come on. Don't you have a cup of coffee for your old friend?"

Barry wasn't sure what Mardon was going on about -- and that definitely was Mark Mardon, the so-called Weather Wizard. 

"You were never my friend, Marky," Len drawled. The man always had a certain laziness to his intonation, but the way he was talking to Mardon took Barry aback. Len sounded almost theatrical. Cocky.

"That's fair," Mardon said, "Business partner? Associate?"

"More like the annoying younger brother of my business partner associate."

Mardon actually chuckled. "See, calling out my comparative youth and inexperience would really only work if you were still a man people feared. You know some other punk is running around using your name?"

"'Snart'? He can keep it."

Barry's stomach dropped out and suddenly he could feel his pulse pounding in his temples. Len's last name was Villarreal -- that was what the lease on the county records site said -- that was what the framed health inspector's report that Barry was staring at above the door to the kitchen said -- 'Leonard Villarreal.'

This had to be some sort of trick, or Mardon had to have the wrong guy. Because Snart was not exactly a common last name. Oh god, what was Michael's mother's name? Had he mentioned it? Was Michael _Lisa Snart's_ son? Was Len the _Golden Glider's_ older brother?!

Mardon laughed out right, "Not that name. Your other one."

Len scoffed, "Captain Cold was a stupid prison nickname that I never liked; as far as I'm concerned, if some nobody wants to call himself that while he plays with one of the Flash's misfit toys then he has my blessing. Besides, only assholes choose to go by aliases."

Barry would've taken a second to be offended if his brain wasn't racing at all the new information. Len definitely knew Mardon, had worked with him before, and probably not on anything legit. He may or may not be related to one of the Flash's deadliest foes, had apparently served time, and was copping to originating the 'Captain Cold' moniker. 

Mardon huffed and picked up something from the counter, Barry's mug maybe, and casually tossed it to the ground. Barry jerked at the sound of the shattering ceramic, shoulder bumping against Len's thigh. He almost jumped again when the older man's hand subtly curved around the back of his neck and squeezed once. It probably shouldn't have had the calming affect it was intended to, but even with the storm of panic and confusion in his gut Barry couldn't help but draw comfort from the contact. He was so screwed.

Next thing he knew Len was being dragged half-way over the counter by a fist in the collar of his shirt, and Mardon was growling, "It's been a long time since we last saw each other, Lenny. You might've been able to push me around back then, but things have changed."

From the sudden temperature drop Barry guessed the Wizard was using his other hand to demonstrate his powers.

Neither of the men said anything as the room grew steadily colder; from his vantage point Barry could see Len was snarling a little and staring Mardon down (despite only having the toes of one foot still on the ground and the difficulty he must have been having drawing breath). After another minute of posturing Mardon shoved Len backward; the diner's owner scrambled to catch himself on the shelves behind him, but wasn't fast enough to shift his left foot out from under the sudden weight bearing down on it.

His ankle rolled with a sickening crunch and Len staggered, steadying himself on the kitchen door's jamb. Barry gathered himself to surge forward, to catch the other man or distract Mardon, anything, but Len caught his eye and shook his head in a quick, short movement.

Barry bit the inside of his cheek and squeezed his eyes shut, pressing himself back against the cupboards. He hadn't felt this helpless in a while. 

Despite the damage to his ankle Len was straightening up as best he could, the only indications of distress the slight tremor in his hand and the sweat beading at his hairline.

"All right, Mardon. You've made your point. Cool powers, gotta get me some of those."

"My point, Snart? Please. That was just me establishing the new order of things around here."

"Get out," Len was glaring now, more furious than Barry had ever seen him, "I'm not helping you with shit."

"You can't just leave the life, Snart. That's not how it works. Ask Lisa."

Well that confirmed that.

"You set up this cute little restaurant right across from CCPD -- I'm sure you hear things. So every once in a while me or one of my Rogues may stop by. Check in on the hot gossip."

"Believe it or not," Len took one wincing step forward, but continued to glare at Mardon, "the badges don't seem keen to discuss their ongoing cases with the local hash-slinger."

Barry heard more footsteps; Mardon was heading toward the door. 

"Well, I guess if you haven't heard anything we'll just have to talk with Michael."

Len's fist clenched so hard, so suddenly, that Barry could see blood welling up in his palm.

"If you go near him, I will end you."

Barry couldn't stop the shudder that went through his body at the ice in Len's voice. He had no doubt that the older man meant what he'd said.

"Good catching up, Snart. Maybe next time I'll get that cup of coffee."

It was three long counts after the sound of the door clattering shut before Len let himself slump to the ground, hissing as he carefully stretched his left leg out in front of him. Barry scrambled over and grabbed Len's still-clenched fist, encouraging him to relax his fingers. Len actually looked surprised at the blood, as though he wasn't sure how it had gotten there.

"Kid--"

"Don't. Just don't. Wait here." Barry jumped up, stepping over Len's leg to walk through to the kitchen and grab two bags of mixed frozen vegetables from the freezer case. Len winced as Barry carefully manipulated his leg so that his ankle rested on one bag and was covered by the other.

"This is just until Mardon is away. You have to get to a hospital, your ankle's broken."

Even Barry could hear the tremor in his voice. He needed to calm down before he actually started vibrating. He had seen --  _been through_ \-- so much worse than what he'd just witnessed. Why couldn't he stop freaking out?

Len wrapped a hand around his wrist and drew him down to sit shoulder-to-shoulder against the cupboards. 

"It's not broken, probably barely sprained. You're shaking."

Barry wanted to deny it, or claim it was anger (and it was, partially). He wanted to turn it around on Len, demand to know what the hell that was and whether all the things Mark had implied were true, but he made the mistake of looking into Len's eyes.

They sat like that for a charged second, gazes locked, while Len's hand -- still strong, but cold now, so cold -- held Barry's wrist, thumb smoothing over Barry's pulse. 

Barry opened his mouth to say something that would break this tension, but quick as anything Len's other hand was gripping where Barry's shoulder met his neck and pulling Barry into a desperate kiss. It was too hard, and awkward, the angle they were sitting at made their noses bump, and Barry was putting more than a little bit of his frustration into the rough drag of his lips, the sharp bites against the other man's closed mouth. And Len took it, seemed to recognize Barry's need to work through his feelings, simply caught the speedster's lips when he could, barely even kissing, just pressing his mouth against Barry's chin, his cheek. 

Eventually Barry relented, drawing his wrist away from Len's grasp, bringing both of his hands up to cup the other man's face as the kiss slowed, grew deeper. He settled back on his heels, drawing the older man forward, and opened his mouth. Inviting. Len's right arm curled around Barry's waist, and he tilted his head, improving their angle and allowing their mouths to slot together better, their tongues to meet. Barry shuddered at the feel of Len gently drawing his lower lip between his teeth, and he unashamedly clung tighter, letting the kiss get faster and more desperate until finally he had to pull back for air.

At some point the hand on Barry's shoulder had slid up and back, and Len's fingers slowly curled and uncurled in the hair at the base of his neck. Their foreheads were pressed together and they stared into each other's eyes, chests still heaving, mouths open and panting. 

"Thank you."

For one crazed second Barry thought Len was referring to the kiss. He pulled back a little, and a tremor went down his spine as the movement caused Len's fingernails to gently scrape down the back of his neck.

Len cleared his throat. "For listening to me, I mean. For staying hidden, and for not trying to use your kung fu CSI moves on a dangerous criminal who would've hurt you."

Barry couldn't stop the disbelieving huff, "Well I guess you'd know from dangerous criminals, huh, Captain Cold?" He winced; hadn't meant for it to come out so harsh.

Len drew away completely, and the speed at which he transitioned from post-makeout dishevelment to a completely shuttered expression would've been impressive if Barry wasn't panicking that he'd lost his first (only?) opportunity to know the real person behind the smirks and snark.

His hand shot out to grip Len's wrist, "Wait! I'm sorry. And dammit, so should you be! You've kept a hell of a lot of secrets from me."

Len's forearm was tense under Barry's hand, like he was about to pull away.

" _Len_. I shouldn't have said that, it just came out because I'm a little shocked and still kind of wired, in case you couldn't tell? I know you're nothing like Mardon, that you couldn't do what he just did."

Len closed his eyes and let his head fall back against the cupboard. "I've done that and worse, Barry. You don't know anything about me."

"Bullshit. I know you're not a morning  _or_ an evening person. I know you pour coffee with your left hand even though you're right-handed. I know how much you care about your sister and Michael," Barry swallowed, suddenly nervous, "I think I know that you don't mind me hanging out here as much as I do."

Len huffed a small laugh, his upper lip doing that amused snarl thing that Barry could now admit was totally captivating. 

"I know the person you are now, Len. Whoever you used to be isn't what matters."

The older man finally turned his head to meet Barry's gaze again. "There are parts of me that are always going to be that person."

"Well," Barry could feel his blush coming back, "then I guess we both know that I already like those parts."

Len looked down and away before Barry could catch more than a glimpse of his smile, "I promise we'll talk about this Barry. Not... I can't now. But soon."

Barry nodded and let his head rest on Len's shoulder. They sat like that for a few more minutes, then Len groaned and shifted his left leg.

"Go get Sucre, tell him the coast's clear," Len said, "then you two can help me to my bed."

Barry jumped to his feet and smirked down at the other man. "Whoah whoah. We haven't even gone on a date, and you're already inviting me up to your place?"

Len rolled his eyes.

"Only you would be more upset about timing than the fact that I've apparently invited a third."

 

* * *

  

"Can I ask you a question?"

Barry was a couple bites into a patty melt, and Len was assembling a salad behind the counter. The lunch crowd was buzzing, and Michael was dashing back and forth between the tables and the pass-through window, hissing at Mick to get orders up faster. Barry felt for the kid, but he'd been the one who insisted that for as long as Len had the boot on his foot he'd take care of all the expediting, delivering and busing.

"You can ask," Len murmured, thinly slicing a cucumber and tossing the pieces into the bowl, "but I may not answer."

The nearest other customer was seated two stools down from Barry, so he pitched his voice lower and said, " The last known whereabouts of Leonard Snart were recorded over 12 years ago, around the time that Leonard Villarreal started working at a dive bar in Opal City."

Len paused in his preparations to raise an eyebrow. "That wasn't a question."

"If you were going to abandon one identity in favor of a new, clean one, why isn't there a criminal record for Leonard Snart in the CCPD's files?"

'In the Mood' came on the radio, and Len hummed absentmindedly along for a minute while he tossed the greens and veggies in the dressing. Finally he glanced up at Barry, "I needed a fresh start. For my sake and for Michael's. That didn't mean that I was ready to leave my old life behind forever."

Barry nodded, "So that's the why. And the how?"

"All I will say is that I paid a very handsome fee to a very handsome computer prodigy who made sure the only thing on file for Leonard Snart was a couple of parking violations."

Barry grumbled, "Should I be jealous?"

"Barry twelve years ago you were a fetus."

"I was fourteen!"

"Good point, whatever was keeping us apart?"

Barry glowered and shoved a handful of fries into his mouth. Len's answering wince was all he could've asked for and more.

"If it makes you feel better, there were no outstanding warrants for me when my records were wiped. Just my arrest record, some evals from my time in juvenile hall, an unflattering mug shot or two, a list of known associates, and some suspicions and unsubstantiated claims."

Barry couldn't help the instinctual shock at what Len apparently considered to be a modest criminal history. But wait...

"Unsubstantiated because they weren't true or because the CCPD just hadn't found the right evidence yet?"

Len smirked, and slid the salad in front of Barry, "Eat."

Barry shot him a dismayed look, "But I already have my sandwich!"

"That's not a sandwich, that's a gut-bomb. And I think Barry 'Three Slices of Pie' Allen can find some room. Michael!"

The younger man's head snapped around at the sound of his uncle's voice. "Yeah, boss?"

"I'm taking my ten."

"Yessir!"

Len turned back to Barry, "I want half of that gone by the time I'm back. You know I don't think I've ever seen you eat a piece of lettuce before?" He shook his head in disbelief, then hobbled through the kitchen toward the stairs to his apartment.

Barry looked around, and surreptitiously started folding leaves of lettuce and hiding them underneath his fries.


End file.
